Butch and I were best friends since 1936 when we met in California. We were both from families that had left Oklahoma after the Dust Bowl hit and the banks foreclosed on our farms. Times were sure tough then. Butch's father had died and we both left school to get jobs to support our families. We worked long hours at a nearby farm, but that didn't stop us from going fishing when the day was through. Butch's mom never once scolded him for it. I think she knew that we needed a little time for fun after a long day of hard work. So we fished. And we kept doing it through the years. We've gotten together at least ten or twelves times to take a weekend fishing vacation. In fact, I think all the big news that Butch ever had to share about changes in his life, were told while we were fishing. He told me he was going to propose to Katherine while we were fishing in Rock Creek, Ohio. I heard he was going to be a dad when we tried fishing for the first time in the Monocacy Creek near my home in Louisville. The only thing Butch could do better than catch fish, was cook them. A couple times we camped out while we fished, and the fish he cooked tasted as good in the outdoors as what he cooked at home on the grill. The last time we met to fish was about a year ago. I'll never forget Butch talking about his life on that trip and how proud he was of his kids and grandkids. I hope that they read this so that they'll know too. I'll miss you Butch. And your delicious fried fish. God bless you.